


Drug Man

by HeroicMadness



Category: youtube - Fandom
Genre: Ah yes there's smut, Drugs Made Them Do It, Ever wonder how Arin and Danny would be as drag queens?, Felix is a bitch, For those who wanted a cult fan fiction, Jack no, Like holy shit he's god now, Mark is a pole dancer, Mark wants the Sparkly D, MatPat: Crackhead Businessman, Minx is a great drug buddy, Murder In Da Club, Night Mind got a vendetta, Other, Psychedelics bruh, Sparklez is so high man, There's a bunch of drugs, There's a rock band, This gonna be a wild ride, Who'd buy an album from Sparklez?, YouTube is now a music company, don't do drugs kids
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-14
Updated: 2017-10-11
Packaged: 2018-12-29 18:22:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12090759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeroicMadness/pseuds/HeroicMadness
Summary: There's a fine line between delusion and addiction.There's a fine line between despair and reverence.There's a fine line between being a god and being a liar.Sparklez uses that line as a lynch,for the traitors of the Addicts.He also uses it as a reminder of himself, whoever that was.





	1. Atmosphere And Mood

**Author's Note:**

> Whoo! Boy, first work on this thing! Let's hope it's better than I think it is.

The bass was banging loudly in his ears, causing his head to ache with the sheer intensity of the beat. The lights were flying in a confined spectrum of green, blue, pink, and yellow. They danced, hungry, unhappy with themselves, hoping to fill the scene with euphoria. Ravers, strippers, DJs-they chased the lights with little worry of the consequence. It was pathetic and glorious. And they still knew nothing of hope.  
The Theorist looked up at the over-bearing Sexbang and Sailor, the two extravagant men who performed the role of “drag queen” well. Sexbang sat on the railing, looking over at the crowd of desolates and ingrates, his neon pink outfit glittering like a pond against the green and yellow lights. The Theorist took another smoke from his crack pipe, watching the false lady take in the scene of wannabe-punks.  
There were three dancers, all of them dressed for the occasion and equally unhappy for their choices. Their mouths would show the pills of Wizard through their teeth, showing the crowd the swallow as it hit their system. It was refreshing, really, when the Drag Queen Duo didn’t force them to be sober every once in a while. They usually got it from a rock star named Syndicate, and his supporting guitarist Will Ryan. It was discreet, usually at a venue with too many drunks and misfits in one room, and it was usually given to them backstage before the performance.  
The deliveries were made by who everyone called Sparklydick. When he wasn’t trying to lead Syndicate or Aureylian on into a hotel for a night of pleasure, he was at the DJ booth drunk. Though it worried Sailor for a while that his drinking habits would affect his music ability, DJ Sparklez proved awe-inspiring. He was usually very impromptu when it came to music. It was that fact that worried plenty of people in the company.  
But he was a great man. And thus, people kept him.


	2. Turn It Up

The face seemed familiar against the drunken haze Sparklez faced, but it didn’t really quite fit the voice in his head. It was a very deep, very heavy voice with a blank and horrifying face. It was impressive, really: the levels of drunk Sparklez would get to before passing out or going delusional.

“Who the fuck is trying to pass as human?!” Sparklez yelled in slurred speech, his various juice and vodka bottles falling off him as he sat up. The monster was Mark, or as many women knew him Astronaut. He glared at Sparklez with annoyance and disgruntlement. Ever since they started working together almost every other week, he’d come up here every chance he had and would try to commit suicide via alcohol poisoning.

“Could you, for once, not come up to the roof drunk off your fucking ass?” Mark sighed. It was already showtime and many people were expecting the two of them on stage. But- as Mark’s poor luck would have it- Sparklez decided now of all times to waste himself on liquor dreams.

“Ooooh, lighten up! The show’s not starting until-!” Sparklez looked at his watch, only to see bright blue colors tell him “10:30” and for his drunken stupidity to turn into realization and regret.

“What’s that toy watch from the store tell you?” Mark scolded Sparklez, pissed.

“Well _Shit_!” Sparklez ran past apologizing, though he knew that this wasn’t going to end in Mark forgiving him after a blow job or lap dance. After all: when is he going to stop drinking up on the roof with dangerous thoughts and loneliness hitting him as show time rang _for once_? ~~~~

The answer didn’t hit him until he was touching up his styrofoam star and moon behind the DJ booth, while Mark got ready for his performance. He’s not going to stop. Not any time soon, anyway. He was equally at a loss for hope as the whole crowd under him was. Sure, up in the booth he was god. But even then, it wasn’t a role he was meant for. If only he could find some way to establish himself as this…deity. This god like figure from the stars or from the lights or something. Anything. As long as it meant he’d stop trying to cut his lifespan short.

“Sparklez!” Mortemer yelled from the suite, her glaring green eyes looking straight at him. Sparklez could never get used to it. It felt like a cat who never really meowed, but would always watch from the darkness, omnipotent. “Start the music!”

Sparklez shivered, the paranoia of being watched leaving. Putting on his headphones, he started mixing up beats and sounds together. He was still a bit drunk so it wasn’t easy, but it made his job all the more fun. Finally he turned a few knobs and found a record to start. The lights dimmed, and below him his friend stood waiting for the music to start. Sparklez saw the pink highlights against the blue aura of the stage, turning them into a radiant hue of magenta. The outfit he wore was rather extravagant as well, leaving Sparklez admittedly drooling over Astronaut. The black skinny jeans conforming to his legs and…other places. The suspenders crossing over the astrology tattoos on his back. He held his top hat in waiting for the music, his obvious anger starting to show. It was only then that the show was remembered.

Sparklez pushed play, and started working his magic.

The music became a person on its own, filled with color and light and sound. It was an emotion, a passion. It was incredible the lengths people went to and the rate that they went there. Sparklez felt himself become the god of those two variables, deciding the fate of the crowd’s attitude towards the rest of the world. It was heavenly. Hellishly so even, since in that moment the realization in Sparklez hit: he was alone, in a booth made for three or four people to party together while the EDM music played its discomfort. He was up there alone, while everyone watched. He was-quite frankly-an alter. He was an object of admiration and distrust in the flawed system. He was their shepherd. Their…Savior.

The bright green paint of Monki finally caught Sparklez’s attention as he twisted his body across the pole in a graceful and scandalous manner. Then his eyes diverted to the star of the show: Astronaut, the man currently holding his dose of Acid on his tongue, showing it off in an attempt to rile the crowd up. His legs were posed to make it look like he was flying, his arms acting as his only support. He twirled and swung majestically as his paint and makeup smeared gently from the sweat. He smirked at the crowd, and made multiple people swoon. He knew Sparklez was staring-who wouldn’t be? He was the king of pole dancers. The king of the pole who never wanted to stop being so. Soon he faced Sparklez at the DJ booth who…was currently staring at the turn tables. His hands glided against the knobs and buttons, causing more noise with each flip and push.

Astronaut, the persona was unimpressed with the lack of attention and care. But Mark, the man underneath the make up and glare, was utterly breathless at the dexterity that Sparklez possessed. The movements were reckless and planned, precise in their destruction of whatever sound they produce. Mark soon came out for a moment, loosening his grip as he stared awestruck and disappointed. His body stopped being a dancer, and took the place of observer. _How could I stay mad?_

Mark soon hid himself from the rest, going back to the persona he created. He hid himself behind Astronaut, who took over and started up again. The lovestruck dingus soon felt desire as the show went on, his own selfish needs getting in the way of his focus. But as he twirled and smirked at the crowd hungrily, Astronaut saw someone noteworthy. A man who seemed to be straight from the 80’s. He, too, was staring at Sparklez, his rings changing color as he saw how fascinating it was. His choker looked like a dog’s, a large hoop in the middle for a leash to lead him. His eyes, baby blue and glistening, were glued to Sparklez fingers, his smirk curling and causing the crowd around him to feel uncomfortable.

Astronaut could _taste_ the jealousy coming from Mark.


	3. Mute Bottle

There was a knock on the door, heavy and urgent, and it woke Septic up. His eye fluttered open as he rubbed his face in annoyance. He had a great dream! Why the hell did it have to be interrupted!?   
Soon he got up and managed to make it to the door without hitting something.Well, not on purpose. Opening it, however, gave him a reason to hit something.  
Felix was there. His pink headphones were hanging on his neck, almost blending in against the ziggy-striped shirt that he wore. His hands were on his hips as he stood there waiting. The lime green jewelry that he wore was shiny against the light.   
Why now?   
“Heeey Septic!” Felix leaned against the door frame, his smirking face becoming a target for Septic to claw at until it was bloody. The thoughts of murder and hell were rushing through his head, causing him to show his teeth in anger.   
Felix pointed inside, asking if he could come in from the cold, but Septic stood his ground. Of course, Felix chose now of all times to be an ass.   
And an ass he was.   
He held up an envelope, one specifically addressed to a women named Wiishu. He smiled brightly as he hinted at what’d he do if Septic didn’t listen. Septic growled in reply, causing him to step out of the way for Felix’s entry.   
“So you’re still as mute as the day I met you,” Felix stated, grabbing an ale from the fridge and popping it open, bringing Septic his bottle of honeyed whisky. It was unlabeled, and the bottle was made to look like a medieval dragon. It was one of the many presents his mom and brother sent him from Ireland, his home. He smiled, remembering the green isle and the town he grew up in. Before he came to America to pursue an unreachable dream.   
“Awww! Now that’s the Septic I like to see!” Felix’s voice snapped Septic from his daydream, crushing it like an ant underneath his blue sneakers. His scowl came back. What was it gonna take for him to kill Felix? Or, maybe even better, _make Felix feel guilt from all the things he’s done_?   
Felix saw the thought growing in his head, but he didn’t stop it. It’s better, he learned, to let them grow, to become disgusting and hideous orchids amongst a sea of tulips. He was better off letting Septic get the revenge in his head; a pacifier for the angry dire wolf.   
“You know, I heard the Wiishu you’ve been so silent about has a liking to mute alter boys like you,” Felix’s words came out like a snake, twisting and contorting itself as it shed its skin. It slithered into Septic’s dark head and bit.   
Septic loosened, staring at the envelope and what it would mean to have a woman like Wiishu. He can’t possibly do that if he took someone’s life, even if they deserve it and are using his crush as a means to an end.  
Felix held up Septic’s favorite eyepatch, the one that Wiishu made for him as a sign of friendship. It was made of soft fabric and leather, decorated by one lime green rose and a black painted chain. It hung on Felix’s finger waiting, almost as if it was in trouble from a dragon. Septic snatched it from his hand, putting it on and glaring at Felix.   
“In case you were wondering, I found it in your dressing room. You really do need a lock on that door.” Felix stated.   
Septic held his breath, trying not to jump at him and strangle Felix with such…such…  
“Remember that bottle of Mescaline I gave you?” Felix asked.   
Septic snapped out of his rage, rubbing his temple and nodded his head, pushing Felix out of his way into the kitchen. He searched through his spice cabinet until he found the small blue bottle decorated in a checker pattern. The label for it made it seem like the small “Drink Me” bottle from Wonderland.   
If only Septic was there. He’d have Wiishu. He’d have peace.   
He would be dancing over Felix’s grave. 


	4. Well Hot Damn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let there be smut, before the insanity begins

The hickey was bright, and it went well with Sparklez’s choker. The stain on his skin made Mark proud of himself, watching the beautiful purple cause moans to come out of Sparklez’s chest. His body pushed itself closer to Sparklez, feeling the effects that the hickey had on his comrade.

“You’re _mine_!” Mark growled in the man’s ear. He wanted it to echo across Sparklez mind for a while, to make him shiver at the thought at the lengths that would be taken if he decided to go for another. 

Sparklez chuckled,“Its only been two days since our last fling, and already you’re getting possessive?”

  
Mark went straight for his neck again, biting harder as to draw both blood and a moan out. He sucked at the skin until the purple grew wider and darker, causing the man underneath him to squirm in desire and pain. 

“Yes, I am,” Mark retorted, after he managed to make Sparklez drool with his mouth agape.

“You’re mine. _All_ mine.”   
It took all of Sparklez’s energy to look at Mark instead of throwing his head back and letting Mark have his way.

“I’m no one’s. Make as many Markimarks as you want, I’m not meant to be owned.”

  
There was a pause between them, a moment before deciding what the next course of action was. That decision came after Mark smiled darkly at Sparklez, as Astronaut came running out in need of attention.

  
“But you are meant to claimed,” His voice rang against his captive’s ears, creating a note that proved more satisfying than the bass that was concocted. His eyes shut, leaving him taking the dive towards Sparklez’s lips, his hands caressing the other’s neck…

  
Sparklez dived out of Astronaut’s grip, avoiding the kiss with the laughter of a 7 year old. He was met with a very confused Mark who was staring at his hands. Although Sparklez would love to tie Mark down and do naughty, _nasty_ things to him, he had a date with someone else. Someone he hadn’t seen in a while and who he missed quite a ton.

“ _As pills start pouring their euphoria, I’m left with such paranoia_!” Sparklez stood there singing along to lyrics he heard coming from the studio booth. It wasn’t hard, seeing as how he was staring at the sheet music and the lyrics right underneath them. There was also Syndicate singing as the lead, but Sparklez would rather let him work before seeing his “oh-so-adorable crush in his styrofoam alien ears”. He shook the thought of it out of his head. He may like Syndicate, but he wasn’t romantically interested in the slightest. It was more a personal choice than a recommendation. It was idiotic.   
_Wait, no, don’t jinx it_. Sparklez thought. It was immediately after that thought that Syndicate came in, happy and giddy to have Sparklez in the same proximity.

  
“Sparklez!” Syndicate hugged Sparklez hard, almost enough that the both of them could’ve fallen down and hit the studio equipment. Syndicate could care less. As long as his Ecstasy and guitar stayed intact there really wasn’t much to worry about. Speaking of Ecstasy…

“So, Syndi, I got a little something for you,” Sparklez smiled, pulling out of his pocket a neon blue Pez dispenser, with a happy star painted on it.

Syndicate took it, examined it with careful precision. He opened it and saw the familiar blue pill of Ecstacy in place of candy.   
Syndicate took it, enjoying the wonderful taste of the substance, though it tasted odd.

  
“You didn’t!” Syndicate grinned, his eyes beaming with joy as the sugary sweet settled in his mouth. 

“I found your dealer and asked her if she could dip your usual pills in Pez. She was very happy to do so.” Sparklez stood proud, enjoying the feeling of making someone happy for once.

  
It took a minute and a pill for Syndicate to register the words.   
“Wait…You found Sonja?” The happy feeling soon left him, replaced with confusion as to how Sparklez found her at all.

  
“Yeees?” Sparklez hesitated, the answer coming out slow and staggered. Syndicate giggled, wrapping his arms around Sparklez in content.

“She’s pretty good to her customers. Part of why no one has been able to overrun her.” He placed his forehead against his raver counterpart saying this, and he could feel the effects kick in. Sparklez noticed it, running his hands through Syndicate’s hair to create stimulation.   
It worked, with Syndicate moving closer and panting. His face was flushed with pink and red hues, and he was already trying to straddle onto Sparklez as a result. The warmth coming from his chest was incredible, his heart was pounding gloriously, and his breath was lost to the emotion the drug forced.   
“I could hook you-“ Syndicate started, only for Sparklez to place a finger against Syndicate’s lips to shush him. There was a slight smile, bared teeth and hungry eyes following.   
“I’ll stick to cherry Pez thanks.” 


	5. Ecstatic Are We?

The Theorist’s extra home was beautiful, colored in white, gold, and silver. The shell itself was filled with plush furniture, dark woods-it was also filled with yells and moans consisting of “Fuck me” and “Harder! _Please_!”. There were screams of “Yes, right there!”, “ _Please, Sparklez, I want this_!”, “Oh God _Yes More_!” and so on and so forth.

The Theorist, being the person he was, didn’t mind in the slightest, mostly because it wasn’t his main house. Too many people wanting to rob the place caused that. So of course, Sparklez took the key and used it as his own. Mostly for the sexual endeavors he and multiple people went on while he was drunk. He didn’t mind either-really, it was a few minutes of erotism and regret. Who wouldn’t want that?

Except there were times like this when it wasn’t a few minutes. It was a few _hours_. It would last until the dawn started knocking on heaven’s door, and dear lord it was amazing. It gave Sparklez an excuse to sleep in, sometimes entangled in another body that showed as much affection as him. It gave him insight on the things he wanted so desperately, from being loved to being revered. It made him think. It made him think genuine and dishonest thoughts. Syndicate was one such exception. With his dosage and preference of Ecstasy, it made it easy for Sparklez to stay up late doing god-knows-what with Syndicate. It also helped that the Ecstasy he liked just so happened to suppress his climax until it faded away in his system. It made the experience so much more rewarding, at least to Sparklez. That wasn’t to mention Syndicate’s utter awe at his...endurance. Yea, he’ll go with that. Purely endurance based skills.

By morning they were both drained and satisfied, settled in each other’s arm while toys and clothes lay all around the couple. Syndicate’s skin was littered with purple bite marks, usually next to red bruises that Sparklez left with his hands. Syndicate pondered on that little detail, since later this evening he was expected to be at a concert, and everyone and their mother would see the claims made on his skin. It wouldn’t matter media wise-paparazzi has already caught wind of his Ecstasy consumption-but it would be a bit of an embarrassment to him if his band mates saw them. They were usually _brutal_ when it came to sexual relations, and he didn’t need Sparklez in that spotlight anymore than he already was. Especially after his attempt at bedding Roselyn. Well, more accurately, her attempt at seducing Sparklez so he could bed her. It was just part of the weird and strange things his band mates did to try and entertain themselves. Hell, he’s done some crazy as shit things so he’d have a reason to _live_. Though, at the moment, he wasn’t sure if Sparklez was one of those things, and if at all considered crazy. Sparklez was the first to actually get up, getting himself to stand and walking to make coffee. Syndicate stayed in bed, enjoying all the memories he had of last night. If only he’d relive them for the rest of his life, continuously, with each new session better than the last. Then again, a man like Sparklez is easy to overdose on, albeit difficult to develop a tolerance for.

He stared at his Ecstacy dispenser, pondering the idea of Sparklez in his head. 

He needed to stop thinking so much. 


	6. Poorly Made Mystery

Septic could see the appeal to Sparklez instantly. The guy was essentially a party personified, and if not that he was at most a drug trip. Bright colors stained every inch of this man, from his bright brown eyes to his boot to those...what are _those_!? They were obviously hand crafted for the purpose of the performance, but holy shit this guy could make you stare. And the suit was just as _ohmygodwhatthefuck?! How much effort did this guy put in?!_

The suit, the boots, even his choker looked handmade. The only thought Septic could think was how much dye, wire, cloth, paint, and possible styrofoam went into this _project_ of a costume. Septic put effort in, sure, but this guy was obviously much more serious than anticipated, or at least he was, until like the rest he got so depressed that he couldn’t function without some addiction. That also begged the question: what was the poison of choice this time?  
Septic went down that list in his head, but none seemed to fit the man at all, whether for the sole impression the guy gave or just...whatever it was. The closest Septic got to a _possible_ addiction was...sex. That’s it. And as weak and stupid of a story that was, it was the only thing Septic noticed about the guy-his constant teasing of one of the dancers, his affectionate composure towards other DJ’s in the booth, his flirting towards the waitresses and waiters. He was, simply put, the textbook case of your average whore. Slut. Septic was still trying to figure out the difference.  
He didn’t notice that one of the owners was holding the prescription pill bottle that he tried to use in the bathroom. He didn’t notice the constant shots and all the bottles littering his workspace by the end of the night. Nor did Septic notice a woman in black confronting him about his personal issues and suggesting that he seek some sort of professional help, or that he shrugged all of it off as part of his job and he’ll feel better after a shot.  
“Enjoying the show?” A woman asked, her parasol spinning in her black gloved hands. Her demeanor struck Septic as a ghost, an observer of sorts. Her eyes pierced everything in her line of sight, making people swivel and stare, her inky black lips smirking in amusement. She was aware of her standing and reputation, the worst part being her playing along.  
Septic nodded yes, smiling politely as to not offend her with his lack of fear. She giggled, pushing back a piece of blonde highlights.  
“You don't have to pretend to be scared for me, dear.” Her smile stayed there, tauntingly. Septic was confused about what the effect should be, staring at her until the smile became genuine.  
“You're a very odd one, aren't you? Do you have a voice?”  
Septic shook his head, the anticipation of her attack starting to bubble over.  
The woman started to show some signs of pity, but even those felt less than genuine.  
“A sure sign of strength, to answer honestly.” Septic kept watching Sparklez, starting to notice the movement of his fingers. They were swift, fluid-Septic couldn't stop turning red as the thoughts ran wild.  
“He prefers women come to him. Whoever she is you’re protecting, he’s not after.” Her voice was soft, almost a whisper against the bass. Septic shook his head-Wiishu wasn’t in his thoughts.It wasn’t jealousy, just...curiosity. Mostly on how he could be as quick with his hands as this guy was. Seemed easy enough. But it wasn’t just his hands. It was his whole body. Moving, swinging, bouncing, every motion met with a fast paced beat, holding him hostage as he smiled and guided the crowd on a tour through an insane and enjoyable melody. It then shifted to what he could do with motions like that, and then his mind went into some...detailed rabbit holes.  
The women looked down embarrassed, almost ashamed of herself as she twirled her parasol.  
“Don’t tell anybody I said this, but I do wonder how’d he’d be.” She chuckled, amused at her own modesty. “But then again, I do tend to wonder how everyone is.”  
Septic could get an idea of what she was talking about, and he really couldn’t blame her. He’s a flirt, he tends to tease everyone, and he’s affectionate. But to Septic, he pretty much spelt that out: quick. He just seemed like everyone’s favorite go-to.  
The women could see how unimpressed Septic was, probably on the same subject that she alluded to. She also noticed his content in some of the impression the man gave. She figured it was alright to mention it, even if he couldn’t ask things like why or how.  
“You know, he’s not just a staff favorite. He’s more a...staff agreement.”  
The expression of quiet contentment turned into confusion. She was pleased that at least she hadn’t lost her touch, and that this man was just as vulnerable as anyone else to her words.  
“I'm sure your first impression is that he's a happy go-lucky DJ with aspirations of being famous. And you'd be right, if it wasn't for one detail that destroys the illusion.” She straightened herself up, the smile and expression fading.  
“Pill bottles.”  
The expression...there was a soup that was stirring in his mind. Confusion, fear, pity, worry. They were all present.  
Septic knew that code word. He knew that code word, what it meant-if it was even uttered, there was usually a moment of silence.  
He stood up, gulping up the rest of his whisky and running towards the back entrance. But he stopped just before the lounging area.  
How in hell did she know the codes used in his branch? How did she even figure that out?  
Who was that women?  
It didn't matter. He needed to meet that man. He needed to talk to him.  
If what that woman said was true, then it'd make sense to act as if _Felix_ knew.


	7. Interesting...

The man up close was a different story than from afar. Up close, Septic could see the hell that went on in this guy’s head. The bags under his eyes, the forced smile, the nervous tics…  
“Hi,” The man started. His voice was calming, soothing Septic slightly. It felt poetic in a way: the burdened man with the calm voice.  
Septic held out his hand, trying to grin without bringing tears to eyes. It felt like a personal challenge: how forced could the smile be before it broke the person?  
The man stared at the hand, a little confused at the lack of words from the eyepatched figure. His hand had multiple rings adorning them, with some holding Celtic and Gallic value.  
“Not much for words, eh? Well I guess I can adapt to the silence. Sparklez, at your service!” The man took the hand and shook it vigorously. Septic’s grin started feeling a little more genuine, his worries dissipating.  
_He's not_ that _suicidal_.  
Sparklez took a drink from a bottle of rum, coughing once the strength hit his throat.  
“Ah, perfect for asphyxiation!” Sparklez smirked holding the bottle up in pride.  
_Aaaand there it is again._  
There wasn’t a whole lot to go off of, but Septic had the inkling, which was enough. The man was a manic depressant, which made his job harder than it should've been to begin with. It also meant the possibility of Felix taking a hold of him.  
Septic felt the anger bubble in his chest. This man, no matter how weird or cute he was, he was just too much of a valuable friend and person. He didn't deserve that sort of- _wait, what the hell am I thinking?_  
Sparklez noticed some of the anger and questioning, his eyebrow arched in confusion and curiosity. Placing a hand on Septic’s shoulder, he smiled and helped to ground Septic.  
“Anger isn't always the prettiest,” Sparklez advised.  
That was what cracked Septic, his mask of agitation turning into shyness. Sparklez felt the pride in him swell. It felt wonderful to crack the tough nutters. He leaned in to give a kiss on Septic’s cheek, causing red to come forth on his cheeks. It looked incredible against the green.  
“You know...you might think about getting in touch with one of my buddies. His name is Mark, or Astronaut on stage. Depends on his mood.”  
Sparklez winked at Septic suggestively,  
his grin staying put against his face. Septic had to refrain from slapping Sparklez out of whatever gutter he found himself in, though he had to admit it was pretty hard to find the courage. The question of the day: How did he manage that? How did he manage to embarrass the one person who makes it a point to not show much emotion other than what was necessary?   
_Too many goddamn questions._


End file.
